Danica

Danica - Los Angeles

Danica emerged from the side door from the Emergency Department and took a deep breath of the late afternoon air, enjoying the brief respite before the rush began. She usually took the opportunity to do a quick yoga session in the chillout room during this window, but Dr. Patel had seized it, shut off the lights, and fallen asleep. That poor bastard should have been off hours ago, so Danica was sympathetic enough not to disturb him. The best she could get for a de-stress was a quiet bench outside and away from the ambulance entrance. She checked the pager clipped to her scrubs before settling - no alerts.

LA’s “Big County” hospital was located right near the junction of the 5 and the 10 freeway, prime places for folks to crash, smash, and otherwise maim each other. And then those poor souls rolled right through the doors of her ER.

Danica leaned back on the bench and allowed herself to hope. Maybe people will be smart today? Hands on 10 and 2? Eyes front? Maybe they’d even stop playing with the stereo, doing their makeup, or -in one particularly memorable incident- decorating a cake in the passenger seat. It’s as good a day as any for the tide to change. It was spring, the sun was high in the sky during drive time, not blinding the westbound commuters heading for Santa Monica. She checked her phone, no major accident alerts in the city. It would seem that things were going well. For now, anyway.

I have a few minutes more. Danica saw, I wonder what Mallory is up to. It’d be nice to hear her voice. Mallory was off in Santa Barbara, having followed her best friend up there. Like many undergrads, once she got settled and found the party spots, calling Mom fell right off the list. Wish she could have followed Janet to class a few more times.

The call went straight to voicemail. “Hey, you’ve reached Mallory’s phone. If you’re hearing this, it’s because you’re my mom or some other boomer who still makes phone calls. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. With a text message. Like normal people these days.” *Beep*

“Hey Mal, it’s mom. You got me. Just calling to check up on you. Finals should be coming soon, right? I’m assuming that you’re not answering because you’re at the library. I’m on until midnight, so you’ll be asleep. Right? Right. Call me tomorrow. Love you.”

Danica rolled her eyes for no one’s benefit but her own. That school is the world’s longest and most expensive vacation. Danica wasn’t hurting for money, but it was helpful that Mallory’s biological dad had left such a significant trust to pay for it. Danica didn't want Greg’s money, but him setting things up to pass it directly to Mallory was a dick move. Having your daughter suddenly worth several times more than you’ve ever been on her 18th birthday was a humbling experience. Which was clearly his intent, to mock me and humiliate Michael. Greg was just a sperm donor. Michael was so much better at being Mallory’s dad, even if she never realized it.

Thinking about Michael still hurt, and Danica was only starting to admit to herself how much. Mallory had been adamant that she end it with him. And in Danica’s fury over his twin catastrophes at work and with the blown bets, Danica had agreed. It was the right move, at least at the time, but that didn’t make it the easy one. But over time the anger had subsided, leaving only regret. The divorce paperwork sat in Danica’s desk, still un-signed and un-filed.

Maybe I just call him. Only to talk and see how he’s doing. We’re not dumb teens, we can have an adult conversation without making any more of it than that. Her finger hovered indecisively over his contact image. But the choice was made for her.

The phone clattered to the pavement, its owner suddenly nowhere to be seen.

—---

Danica jerked upright, feeling as if she'd rolled off the side of the bed. She found herself on a ratty and cracked brown vinyl couch in a cramped and filthy dressing room. Danica’s immediate impulse was to flee. The only door was opposite the couch. Danica rushed for it, but it wouldn’t budge.

With no other obvious options, Danica paused to survey the room and take a breath. Observe. Orient.

The rest of the space was in no greater shape than the couch - A third of the light bulbs were burnt out over the mirror, the director’s chair in front of it was ripped, and there was a pervasive stale smell - the room had been deserted for a significant time. Said mirror was smudged with a shape suggesting that a woman’s form had been pressed against the glass. A small message written in lipstick invited the reader to make use of any available cosmetics. Even if Danica had been in any mood to do so, and she decidedly was not, the containers had been left open to dry out and crack.

Next to them was a small stack of pamphlets titled “Harem Hotel Rules.” Danica felt an alien sensation as she saw them, a sudden understanding that it was important to know what they read. Danica skimmed it quickly, but once she had done so, that feeling passed. What nonsense is this? A TV show? I never signed up for this. She pitched it in the trash.

Her skepticism was short-lived. The walls were lined with framed photographs, each with a similar composition. There were always two men centered in the shot, tossing thumbs up to the camera, surrounded by a bevy of women in various states of undress. One of the men was tall and skinny and appeared in each photo wearing a ten-gallon hat, but the one next to the wannabe cowboy changed each time. The host and the star? Is that guy supposed to be the Master? Some of those women had comically large busts and hips, and many had a glassy-eyed smile. Others had a deeply unsettling look of resignation or even fear. The photos did appear mounted in some kind of order - the fashions appeared to progress chronologically, though they were classless and over-sexualized no matter the year. Something caught her eye: a short, repugnant thing set off from the group with his cigar, every time observing with an inscrutable expression. So the cowboy and the chimney stay but the others all change. Chimney was in the pamphlet. Al, right? Is he the owner? What happened to the other one?

There was an empty hook at the end of the row with no frame on it. Had it been removed, or never hung?

“Paging Dr. Clark, Dr. Danica Clark to the Harem Hotel please.” A male voice echoed through the air. She recognized the rasp of a career smoker. Al.

The door to the room popped open a crack. Danica had no desire to follow that voice, but she felt a physical compulsion to. Through the door… onto a stage? A line of showgirls flanked a red carpet to follow, out to a set of high stools. A wave of applause greeted her. Spotlights focused in, forcing her to shield her eyes. She could barely make out a crowd of well-dressed people seated at tables and the silhouettes of three others on the stage with her.

“Danica?!? She’s one of the contestants?” Her heart somehow leapt and dropped at the same time. She was thankful to hear Michael’s voice, but the fear in it only added to her own.

“Michael? You're the Master!? What have you gotten into?!” He sat on the stage, in an armchair opposite the row of stools, flanked by a redhead. That freaky stuff from the pamphlet is real?! The redhead put her arm over Michael’s shoulder and Danica felt a stab of jealousy. She tried to tamp that down. That must be Ruby, why wasn’t she in the photos? His struggles faded as Ruby held him. “Stop trying to fight this and enjoy it.” Ruby petted him like a favorite stuffed animal.

“The scrubs wouldn't've been my first choice, but I’m sure they won’t last long.” Al taunted. Danica felt the same familiar tug as she did in the dressing room, as if her limbs weren’t fully hers to command. She strode to the end of the stage, cocked her hips, flashed a smile and winked at the audience.

“Dr. Clark is Michael’s wife of eight years, though as you heard earlier, the prognosis wasn’t looking good.” Al continued narrating while she posed. “We’ll see if a more aggressive treatment is just what they needed, baby.”

“How do you know that? Who are you people?” She yelled to the crowd, but was drowned out by their applause. Danica undid her bun and shook out her brunette hair, letting it flow down to her shoulders. She was quite proud of her body, but for the moment she was happy to have the form-hiding clothes. Ruby came over and took her by the elbow. As soon as the redhead touched her, Danica instantly felt calmer. This one is on my side. She thought. Danica wasn’t sure how she reached that conclusion, the redhead seemed just as invested in this as the others. But Danica allowed herself to be led to the stool and seated to see where this night went.

“Let’s keep ‘em coming, baby!”

Al flipped another card, revealing Ruby’s second selection…